


Apocalyptic Comedown

by Robin-Apocalyptica (Freischutz)



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Cigarettes, Drug Addiction, Drug Withdrawal, F/M, Fluff, Horror, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Romance, Slow Burn, Smoking, Trying to be as canon as I can with a few personal twists
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-05 09:33:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5370371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freischutz/pseuds/Robin-Apocalyptica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What brings us together can ultimately tear us apart. But is there a chance to reunite?</p><p>“Hey. I got you. You got this.”</p><p>A descriptive journey through the post apocalyptic commonwealth, a lost woman finding her way and her reflections on a world left behind. Focusing on the sole survivors development as she learns to survive in the wasteland, and the developing friendship/relationship with John Hancock. Will update the tags as I go. I'm very much new to fanfiction writing, constructive critique welcome (especially as I don't have anyone to proof read for me).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reflections

[Year 2289, Spectacle Island]

 

The storms here were nothing like the ones back where she was born. Over two centuries ago now.

Summer storms in England. Warm and humid, the rain doing nothing to cool your skin, dark clouds rolling in like petticoats in motion. But it was always sure to be followed by a day of scorching sunshine. She never did well in the close heat, but the joy in it for her was to see how the trees and plants exploded into life, hungry for the light of the day and the rains of the short nights. She remembered the soft golden light stretching long shadows over the grass, the city skylines silhouetted against a sky where the sun bled its last, its colours seeping out over the canvas above, the distant clouds washed in pale greys and lilacs like watercolours.  
Grass...the grass. In summer she could curl her toes in the lush green stems like hands clutching hair, retreating inside at sundown with the imprint of each leaf stamped into the pale skin on the back of her bare legs. It struck her in these moments of painful, pensive recollection, how it was the small details that made up the picture. How the little things that so easily faded to insignificance at the time, were the things she missed the most. The twitter and trebles of birdsong in the air, clattering blackbird alarm calls and the proud songs of her red breasted namesake. Hell...even the distant drone and hum of cars passing along the winding roads left a gaping hole in the soundscape of this new world around her.

Robin stood at the edge of the skeletal copse, her head craning upwards towards the sky as it became awash with green, a shade that should never have been seen in nature but was now all too familiar. It settled as fog, a choking mist descending and clustering over the city she could see over the expanse of water to the west. The radiation was like a blanket, a cloth pressed up against her nose and mouth. Her hand lifted to her face as she heard the click and scratch of the geiger counter, a precursor to her turning tail and fleeing, her boots pounding heavily over the stony ground as she made a bee line for home, her spare hand fumbling in her pockets for a dwindling supply of rad-x that she gulped down without water in her haste. The thunder rolled in, the crack of expending energy in the atmosphere snapping at her heels that picked up as she ran, her breaths heavy and hard as her lungs burned with the acrid air. The mist swept over her island now, obscuring her way over the little winding paths through the scrub. But she knew this place like the back of her hand and it wasn't long before the silhouette of home loomed up through the fog. She could hear Dogmeat's barks and anxious whines, the shape of him pacing restlessly up and down inside the garden fence, his large ears perked towards her as he lifted himself on his hind legs to place his paws on the chain link.  
“I'm here boy!” She called, her words trailing off as the acidic bite in the air scraped at her throat leaving it feeling dry and making her cough, unable to issue a snapping order for the dog to stop scrabbling at the already fragile fencing. Instead she barreled through the gate, kicking it shut carelessly behind her and grabbed his collar, dragging him after her until he got the picture and raced through the lines in the vegetable patch ahead of her, occasionally halting to look at her expectantly.  
Not a moment too soon, Robin sagged into the armchair positioned by the window, her hands reaching out to stroke fondly over the dogs ears as he shoved his head into her lap. The storm raged outside, woman and companion safe beneath the roof and behind the walls. Relatively speaking. The only sound to break the ominous growl of the storm outdoors was the sullen drip of fat droplets of water slipping through the hole in the roof, insistently reminding her of the state of disrepair her shelter was in.

Her hands were shaking as they raked through Dogmeat's thick fur and he whined softly in response. But it was not from nerves that her hands shook. Shit. Her trembling fingers lifted, pushing her dark hair away from her face as she felt the irritable ache gnawing at her like a beast in her gut, her heart thundering wildly in her chest as she anticipated the cold sweat, her pounding head, tingling limbs with pain and consuming anxiety to follow. Withdrawal.  
_“Jesus doll face, you look like death, and that's coming from me....hey!....Hey. I got you. You got this.”_  
Her teeth pinned down against her lip as her head bowed, her eyes closing as she rode through the brief wave of anguish that rolled from the recollection of that rasping voice. His absence wasn't the lack of his presence, it was an open wound.

How did she end up out here? How did she end up out here alone? Her hands clasped together, her fingers tracing over the skin that was scarred and calloused from her time in the commonwealth as she now knew it. She fumbled with the latch to the yellow case lined with inhalers. And slowly, with the storm raging outside and nothing else to occupy her, she allowed herself to fall into memory as one might have lowered into a hot bath, gingerly, in anticipation of discomfort and disquiet.


	2. Ya feel me?

[Year 2287, Goodneighbor]

 

It was a day of firsts.  
At dawn she ventured through the ruined concrete jungle, her eyes heavy with fatigue. It was hard to sleep the previous night listening to the roars and shrieks, gunfire and howls, all echoing through the dark from the very place she intended to head. Her whole body charged with anxiety, her hands gripping her rifle tightly to prevent them from shaking. She was green, new, fresh meat ripe for the taking in a nightmare from which she couldn't wake. But she was determined.  
Her sore feet felt hot with her own blood in her boots, grips slipping as she picked her way over debris and rubble, her heartbeat pounding in her skull. Her guilt and frustration at her fear, that knot of anxiety that burned in her gut, had long since faded. She owed her life to that purveying unease that kept her trigger finger jumpy and her legs like coiled springs ready for flight.  
Somewhere along the way she had lost her bearings, overwhelmed by the maze of crumbling ruins, creeping through alleyways with Dogmeat whining softly beside her to avoid gangs of raiders she couldn't hope to take on by herself. Goodneighbor was the nearest place she could think of where she could rest, at least for a time, gather up her supplies and recuperate before she set out again. People she had encountered previously had muttered the name of the place with dark glances and disapproving frowns but what choice did she have? It was either pass through those gates, or end up hung up in a sack of meat like a display in a butchers window.  
Her heart fluttered with relief as she saw the haphazard display up ahead of her. Goodneighbor. Peeling posters advertising showgirls, a hotel, a rusted up old car obscuring them from view a little. And most importantly a welcoming arrow directing her through the decrepit buildings, the fluorescent lights flickering as they gasped their last.  
  
“I heard footsteps, I know I did, _human_ steps.”  
Robin grabbed Dogmeat's collar without a second of hesitation and threw herself with him behind a stacked wall of sandbags, pressing up against them with her head down and shoulders hunched, her rifle over her chest with her finger resting on the trigger, praying to any deity that might listen that Dogmeat would stay low, and stay quiet. Her breaths trembled and though they barely made a sound, to her each exhale was like a gust of wind that would surely give her away, each one steadied and measured. Her ears strained and focused on the sound of heavy, shuffling steps on the concrete behind her, every sense focussed on the lumbering pursuers that apparently weren't so oblivious to her passing by their stronghold. Dogmeat could smell the hound they had with them, and Robin watched with her eyes pleading as his fur bristled and his lip curled back to expose his teeth, his whole body shaking with the effort of holding himself back. Please Dogmeat...please. Be quiet. Be still.  
“Nothing here now.” A deep, sluggish voice muttered with a tone that suggested disappointment, and Robin could hear the click and shift as guns were lowered and relaxed, but their hound was growling, it's chain clinking as they tried to pull it back.  
“Twice now your hound led us on false chase. Would serve better roasted on the spit.”  
Robin closed her eyes, clutching her weapon tighter against her fluttering chest and daring to close her eyes, her lips moving silently as she begged for them to leave, to ignore the beastly hound with slavering jaws and quivering hackles that could clearly smell them not too far away. Go. Go away.  
The sounds of their footsteps and their barely coherent argument began to move away, becoming quieter, their words almost drowned out by the hysterical whining and snapping of their dog who knew they were there. The rush of relief was like a high as she realised, again, she had managed to slip through the whole place unseen, a ghost. Or perhaps, less a ghost, but a rat. Something small and wretched so beneath the notice of her foes she wasn't worth their time.  
She was almost frozen, not daring to move until Dogmeat whined insistently, his tail low and wagging nervously as his wet nose pressed against her cheek. Reminding her it was time to go and she smiled gratefully, her hands thawing enough to reach out and rake her fingers through his fur, rubbing his ears.  
“Good boy Dogmeat, good boy...”  
She pushed herself to her feet, expending a shaky sigh before she gathered herself again, a shake of her head to try and resettle her hair, dusting off her blue clad thighs with gloved hands hastily. Once composure was regained she strode in the direction the arrows had pointed her, faithful canine at her side, but nought else but her determination, a rusted old rifle and a pouch full of bent bottle caps as her defence against this brave new world.

She wasn't sure what to expect when she pushed open the heavy metal door. A sweeping curved wall opened out onto surprisingly neatly preserved pavement in front of two stores fronted with bold signage, one proudly touting “KILL OR BE KILLED. GUNS GUNS GUNS.” Well. If anything summed up her experience since she stepped out of the vault, that was it. She couldn't help her lips twitching with a smile at the thought. Her head craned upwards at the tall buildings around, open doors and idling settlers a welcome change from boarded up windows and the red dots of sights flickering over her head and chest as guns aimed in her direction. But she hardly had time to take it all in before a leather clad figure strode towards her heralded with the smell of cigarette smoke and a harsh growling voice.

“Hold up there. First time in Goodneighbour?”  
She didn't respond. It wasn't a question, and she regarded the man greeting her without removing her hands from her weapon, feeling Dogmeat at her side stiffen and bristle with mistrust. “Can't go walking around here without insurance.” The man before her continued, his scarred face twisting with a smile that didn't meet his eyes.  
For the first time in a while Robin felt her anxiety evolve into a hot flush of anger. She was tired, wired up from no sleep and travelling all day in constant suspense, her stomach empty with gnawing hunger and she had had enough. Her fuse burned down enough that she felt a flurry of her old bravado returning to her.  
“Unless it's 'keep dumb assholes away from me insurance', I'm not interested.” Her tone of voice was flat, her freckled cheeks twitching as her jaw set. Dogmeat picked up on her unease and anger and joined with her voice in a low growl.  
His response was to laugh mirthlessly, a casual flick of his hand tabbing off his cigarette.  
“Awhhh now don't be like that...” His voice dropped lower, sinister, his brow furrowing. “I think you're gonna like what I have on offer.” He brightened up, dry lips pursing for another drag of smoke. “You hand over everything you've got in those pockets, or...accidents start happenin' to ya. Big. Bloody. 'Accidents'.”  
Robin bristled at the audacity, her narrow shoulders drawing up as she held her proud head high, her lips forming a retort before she was interrupted by a rasping voice to her left and all of them turned to the figure that strode lazily in their direction.

“Whoa, whoa....time out.”  
It was the first time she'd seen a ghoul that wasn't ready to tear out her throat. Or at least, she was assuming he wasn't. He looked different to say the least. Not misshapen and festering with dim unintelligent eyes, but his skin was darkened like leather and clinging to his bone structure, his cheeks almost hollow but he looked burned rather than rotting, his dark eyes roving over her with leisure for a brief moment, her heart jumping as his dark gaze met with hers fleetingly. A ghoul. In a tricorne? A day of firsts, one she'd look back on in future times and realise that was the moment when her wide-eyed awe and horror started to dissipate. By this point, she felt she'd seen everything. Later she'd snort derisively at her naivety.   
“Someone steps through that gate for the first time, they're a guest.” He side stepped with the tails on his coat gently drifting, turning with a flourish of movement to face the man confronting her and standing with ease and confidence oozing from every pore. “Lay off the extortion crap Finn.”  
Finn rounded on him, his arms folded defensively in an indication that even for a thug like this, the ghoul wasn't a man to be trifled with.  
“What do you care?” He scoffed, “She aint one of us.”  
The ghoul tilted his head, his eyes narrowing.  
“No love for your mayor Finn? I said let her go.” The message was definitive from where she was standing, not a statement to be argued with and yet Finn stood firm.  
“You're soft, Hancock,” He rolled up and stiffened his shoulders, “You keep letting outsiders walk all over us, soon there'll be a new mayor.”   
The ghoulish mayor rolled his eyes with an easy smile, his palms open skyward and out on either side of him as he strode easily on lithe legs forwards to close the space between them.  
“Come on man,” He implored sweetly, “This is me we're talkin' about.” His head leered forwards, his lipless smile stretching at the corners but there wasn't any mirth in his gaze. “Let me tell you something.” 

A withered hand lifted to jovially clap the man on the shoulder, but with a hardening of his expression he dragged him forwards, deft fingers finding a knife that flashed in the dim sunlight before it buried itself, once, twice into Finns gut. Robin was no stranger to violence by this point, but the suddenness of it, the cold precision startled her so that she stood, frozen, watching as Finn grunted and gasped his last. He fell almost at her feet, his arms clutched around him as blood spread onto the ground, flowing sluggishly through the grooves in the brickwork.   
Hancock's expression was one of disappointment as he looked down at him on the ground bleeding his last.  
“Why'd you have to go and say that huh? Breaking my heart over here.”  
Robin's gaze followed a similar trajectory, watching as Finn's expression went slack and his eyes rolled, his body finally falling into an uncanny stillness that meant only one thing. And for the first time since leaving the vault, she found herself impassive towards the sight, her heart starting to harden towards loss of life. She was broken from the introspection by that growling voice.

“You alright, Sister?”

She looked up, her ragged red curls bobbing around her cheeks as she turned to him, regarding him warily. Was he a ghoul? He was so different from the ferals that had attacked her before, and yet, maybe...  
“You....your face.” She ventured bluntly, a red brow raised with a twitch. “Did something happen?”  
Hancock blinked, looking at her blankly for a second, and internally Robin cursed herself for her blunder, balking. But his face relaxed and his head tilted back with a laugh, his eyes creasing at the corners.  
“You like it?” He lifted his hat briefly, showing the bald, leathery scalp as he ghosted a hand over it. A man used to brushing fingers through hair that had long since dropped out. “I think it gives me a sexy, king of the zombies kinda look. Big hit with the ladies.” He grinned in the face of Robin's innocent ignorance, the clumsily armoured vault suit she wore granting him a measure of her without much help from her. “I'm a ghoul you see doll face. Lot of walking rad freaks like me around here, so you might want to keep those kind of questions on the low burner next time.”  
Robin burned with embarrassment that coloured her rounded cheeks, pushing her hand through her red hair.  
“Sorry, Mayor...It's...Been a long day. Thanks for taking care of him.” Her gaze indicated Finn's cooling corpse at her feet.  
“No harm done sister. Don't let this...incident taint your view of our little community.” His hand indicated broadly at the buildings around them. “Everyone's welcome here, Goodneighbour's of the people, for the people, you feel me?”  
Robin's brows only lifted further.  
“Of the people...for the people?” Her mind rushed back to her first American history lessons as a child. The sense of grandeur the people of this wasteland had, honestly. “...Seriously?”  
And yet again, oddly, her impudence was rewarded with a low chuckle, the smile on the mayors face sustained and brightening. She quipped in smoothly before he could retort. “I feel you, Mayor.”

  
“Good. I can tell I'm going to like you already.” Satisfied, he adjusted the lapels of his disheveled tailcoat with a wink that threw her again. “You consider this town your home away from home alright.” A spindly finger indicated in his own direction. “Just remember who's in charge.” Sparing her another appraising look, he turned on his heel and headed down the street, striding easily and letting himself into the door of the nearby state building. Leaving her stood in the open street, a strangers blood starting to pool underneath her boots, standing out like a sore thumb in her bright blue and yellow suit and her red hair blazing in the sunlight. She thought to follow him. She had questions after all. But his retreating back fell out of sight behind the door and the moment passed, leaving her resigned. She needed food. She needed to get cleaned up. She looked down at her feet, lifting up a boot that was sticky with Finn's blood. Who was going to clean up this mess? And....Goodneighbour, her 'home away from home'? Standing with a corpse at her feet, she hadn't felt entirely comforted by the thought.  
A day of firsts, though she couldn't consider at the time just how monumental it would prove to be.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RIP Finn, i wonder with the amount of fanfiction and gameplays combined, how many times has that guy has been brutally stabbed to death?  
> Mostly covered familiar ground in this chapter but we will start diverging as the story moves on from here. I wrestled with whether or not to write my own interpretation of an introduction, but if it aint broke...


	3. Freaks and Misfits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Robin reminisces about her first time in the Third Rail.

[Year 2287, Goodneighbor]

 

Maybe _this_ was more like home.  
Robin always recalled that first night in The Third Rail with fondness. It was the first night since her escape from the vault that she had a feel of what luxury meant in the commonwealth. Glass of whiskey in hand, cigarette smouldering between her fingers...not watching her back as she sunk into the plush red couch. She could finally, truly...relax. No looking over her shoulder, her ears only straining to the sound of Magnolia's voice crooning sensually over the room. It was as close to bliss as she had been in a long time, her eyes half closing as she settled her head back, looking up at the ceiling without really seeing as she savoured the warm buzz from the alcohol, letting that heavenly voice wash over her. Bliss.  
She felt like an alien to this world she'd found herself in. A relic, a woman out of time, out of place. Sanctuary had been her home, but now? The place made her skin crawl and her heart ache. The place ebbed with radiation and with memories trapped in every house, in the walls and on the pavements. She remembered her neighbours, those who hadn't made it into the vaults, the colours of the trees in autumn that were now skeletons. And her own house was a mausoleum to a life that no longer belonged to her, Shaun's crib rusted and empty and Nate's suits crumbling into dust in the drawers. Not a home anymore, a memorial to what was and what might have been. She couldn't stay there, not a minute longer. Initially Preston had warned people away from staying in that house, and as soon as she'd found out Robin had protested. Better that it serve some purpose for the living, than remain a silent reminder of the dead and gone.  
She was running. She knew that. As much as she sought to find Shaun, as much as her heart ached at his absence, the recollection of her life before the bombs was too raw, too painful. And Nate...  
She swallowed hard, looking down at the simple wedding band on her finger. She was smoking again...he'd hated her smoking. She had quit whilst she was pregnant, but when crisis reared its ugly head she always turned back to her vices. As a matter of fact Nate had hated most of the things she enjoyed. But he had been her ticket to the dream, the doll house fantasy. Sobriety, respectability, affection and a family. She loved him. He'd saved her life. But as she drained the rest of her glass savagely, refilling it so hastily it slopped over the sides, she knew the reality was that the rules had changed. Petticoats and groomed smiles, the right car and a manicured lawn weren't the method for survival anymore. Robin the housewife was irrelevant here. She needed the old Robin back, the person she'd been running from for years.  
As she lifted the glass to her lips she made a toast to Robin Clifton, bidding her farewell and opening the doors for Robin Macintyre to return. The woman who bore her maiden name would bring back Shaun, she had to.

As the whiskey burned down her throat and the glass slammed back down onto the table, her eyes caught sight of and followed movement, the flick and sway of red tails and the heavy steps of booted feet. She watched Mayor Hancock swagger across to the bar with that apparently unshakable confidence, his back to her leaving her free to observe from her relatively shadowed corner. She suspected, being mayor made it pretty easy to walk around with the kind of presence that claimed ownership of a space. Self satisfied was the phrase that came to mind. Arrogant. No different from any other leader really, it was in the job description.  
But still....she settled back, twirling an unlit cigarette between her fingertips as she observed him leaning with his elbows on the bar, back turned to her, his weight resting lazily on one hip. He was intriguing, her interest was always piqued by anyone who stood out amongst their peers, for whatever reason. Who _wasn't_ interested in people like that?  
She found herself reminiscing again, her gaze drifting and distant enough that for the moment she didn't notice Hancock turn to look over his shoulder, his eyes catching the unmistakable flash of her deep red hair illuminated by the flickering candle light. And before she knew it he was making a bee line in her direction, halting a respectable distance at least and indicating the couch opposite her.  
“This seat taken?”  
Robin looked around sharply as his voice startled her from her reverie, taking a few seconds to recover and reclining in her seat, her grey eyes narrowed.  
“Depends who's asking....I suppose if its the Mayor he can take whichever seat he likes.” Her gaze moved up and down him, eyeing the frill shirt and the flag on the belt wrapped around his slight hips. “Help yourself.”  
There was a sour tone to her voice but he smirked all the same, taking the seat opposite her despite the frosty invitation, pulling a cigarette from a crumpled packet in his breast pocket, lighting it with a flourish and offering the flame in her direction. She leaned forwards, her heart thundering but her expression didn't betray her as she lit another. She inhaled to encourage the smouldering embers and promptly had to remove it as she started to cough, her throat tightening and burning.  
“Oh Jesus.” She wheezed, patting her hand over her chest, taking a sip of whiskey to wash the feeling away.  
“Ohh sweetheart,” He grinned, leaning back with his legs spread. “You only just started? Not often you see folk who _don't_ smoke. Although...” He eyed the bright blue vault suit clad on her person. “I don't really know how good the ventilation systems in vaults are...”  
Robin snorted somewhat derisively.  
“What? Oh, no. No, no.” She laughed, one eyebrow raised and her lips smiling chidingly. “I've been smoking since before you were born. But these cigarettes are probably older than you are, they don't taste as fresh after 200 years.” She looked down at the cigarette in her hand and wrinkled her nose. “I never used to smoke Grey Tortoise anyway. Cheap brand.”  
Hancock raised an eyebrow. Or he would, if he had any. But she saw the shift in his expression clear enough.  
“Since before I was born? You didn't know ghouls were sentient this morning, now you fancy you can age this mug?”  
“It's nothing to do with your face.” She exhaled slowly, wreathing herself with smoke. “Trust me. I'm older than you.”  
“You don't look a day over 25 if you ask me.” Hancock, curiosity piqued too if his manner was anything to go by, tilted his head. Flatterer. “Alright...shoot. How old?”  
“I'm over 200 years old.”  
“....Bullshit.”  
“Why would I bullshit about something like that?” She tabbed off her cigarette into the ashtray.  
“Alright smart ass, tell me how?”  
“Tell you what? How I still look this good after 200 years?” Robin smirked, feeling the warm buzz of the whiskey in her belly removing her nerves and suspicion. “Oh no. You don't get to have my life story because you're the top dog around here...But. I might be tempted by a fair trade.”  
“Ohh...equivalent exchange is it?” He lifted a thumb to push up the forward corner of his tricorn, his dark eyes focussed on her in a way that told her she commanded his attention.  
“Yep.”  
“In that case, I'll get you a refill on that whiskey.”

In the end, Hancock had roughly dragged the couch he was sat on even closer to the table that separated them, much to the chagrin of the other patrons who glanced with annoyance in their direction as the wooden feet groaned and scraped across the floor. He told her about how he'd come to Goodneighbor as a human, his wild and reckless excursions in the pursuit of chem induced bliss. And how ultimately, that had led to him becoming the ghoul he was today. In exchange she told him about signing up for a place in Vault 111 and emerging, as plump in the cheek and bright eyed as she had been over 200 years previously.

“Well holy shit.” She was still learning how to read him, but his eyes were wide as he looked across at her, a low whistle leaving pursed lips.“ So you're a real relic huh.”  
“I think the commonwealth has managed to blast off all the cobwebs and dust by now but...yeah...I guess I am.” She watched with no complaints as he refilled her glass, her eyes tracing over the ravaged skin over his hands and fingers. “You buy drinks for every stray that wanders into town?”  
“Only the ones who look interesting.”  
Robin glanced around the bar with an appraising look.  
“Doesn't seem like you're exactly short on interesting people here.”  
“And what a bunch of people they are huh?” His grin was broad, his pride obvious. “That's what Goodneighbor's all about doll. It's a home for freaks, misfits and troublemakers. Folks who just don't quite fit in anywhere else.”  
Robin couldn't help her expression reflecting the warm glow in her chest at those words, her grey blue eyes lighting up. She was already feeling more amicable towards him, and that? Well....that was the clincher. Because as he said it pieces clicked into place, realisation dawning. The closed off expressions, the cold shoulders turned her way....a ghoul in a tricorn and a tailcoat talking to a woman in a vault suit.  
“There's belonging to be found amongst other people who don't belong,” She mused aloud, lowering her gaze to meet his with a smile, her rosebud lips pursing against the glass to drain the amber liquid from it. “Yeah....I like it. I feel you. But, I'm wondering which of those categories I fall under. Freak, misfit or a troublemaker?” She twitched a brow upwards, but she was smiling as she issued a playful challenge, crossing one thigh over the other. The impish signals weren't wasted on him as he rested an elbow on his knee and leaned forwards, narrowing his eyes as his gaze moved freely up and down her.  
“I was gonna go for misfit. But you're playing your cards close to the chest, aren't ya? It's hard to place you.”  
“I'm not playing them THAT close....maybe you're just not asking the right questions. You haven't even asked my name yet.” She interjected as he opened his mouth and she cut him off. “It's Robin. Robin Mcintyre.”  
“Well alright then, Robin Mcintyre," He enthused, "what brings you to our town?”  
Robin's cards drew closer to her chest as she hesitated, thinking fast....not quite sure if she trusted the mayor enough to tell him the full story, why she was wandering the commonwealth.  
“I'm....looking for work.”  
“Well why didn't you say so?” He lit up another cigarette that illuminated the lines of his face in amber, smothering the flame as the lid snapped back into place. “Tell you what...assuming you know how to use that rifle, I've got reconnaissance needs.” He exhaled. “Got a lotta weird talk coming in about a place called the Pickman gallery. It's raider territory up that way, but its been quiet. Like, uncomfortable post coitus quiet? There's caps in it for you if ya scope out the place.”  
Shit. She wasn't a mercenary, keeping alive had been priority number 1 up until now and she intended to keep it that way. But now she'd put her foot in it, and Hancock was looking at her expectantly.  
“How many caps? Better be good if you expect me to traipse out into raider turf.”  
“The going rate is 200...but...well. Seein' as I like you...” He winked. “How's _300_ sound?”  
Robin visibly relaxed though she felt her heart fluttering with nerves. 300 caps? Might be worth risking her neck for after all...and besides. He said it had been quiet...suspicious, but how hard could it be? He seemed to think her moment of silence to be dissatisfaction with his offer and quipped in hopefully.  
“Ahhh come on....I'll even put in a good word with Kleo, see if she can't give you her 'best price' on some ammo.”  
“200 caps for the snoop, 100 for my sparkling personality. Got it.”  
“Thatta girl.”

Robin collapsed onto her sagging bed in the Rexford later that night,staring up at the ceiling with the broken fan tottering around in a wonky circle and its light blinking intermittently, sending curious flickering shadows over the peeling paintwork. She was beginning to feel a little guilty about her first assessment of Hancock after the night of conversation and whiskey, jealously watching him pop mentats like candy. He was much more down to earth than she'd assumed...in fact, she found herself agreeing with him more than once, her heart still warm from the embers of his words about a gang of freaks and misfits. One particular freak held her attention for the enigma he presented, her thoughts lingering and wondering.  
She felt Dogmeat jump onto the bed beside her but she didn't have the energy to try and shove him off, her hand sloppily rubbing his shoulder and a smile on her face as it sunk into the pillow.

Freaks and misfits had always been her kind of people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's left me kudos and bookmarks so far, it's much appreciated! Bit of a slow, chilled out chapter but the pace will start picking up now as Robin finds her feet and comes into her own a bit more. And more Hancock, more!


	4. Penumbra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Robin recalls Hancock getting acquainted with one of her many alter egos

[Year 2289, Spectacle Island]

Robin's whole present seemed to be about looking back into the past. After spending the evening reminiscing miserably about the man she'd left behind, she'd woken up still in the chair she'd collapsed in the night before, her neck stiff and sore where it had fallen back against the crest rail. The soft sound that had awoken her was Dogmeat whining and scratching at the door, and after letting him outside she'd ventured out in his wake, squinting in the early morning sunshine. There was work to be done after all, and it wouldn't get done if she didn't drag her aching bones out to do it. Aside from Dogmeat, she was out here on her own. Her exile had been self imposed, but that didn't make the isolation any easier to deal with.  
But she had to break through this. She had to fight it. She was hardly sleeping, her heart constantly fluttered with anxiety and she found herself sweating profusely, or falling to her knees to vomit violently as her whole body trembled. But she had done it before and she was determined she could do it again. And now there was no chance for relapse....her final dose of jet was gone and out here on the island, there was no way to acquire anymore. The addictol helped ease the withdrawal, took the edge off, but her supplies of that were starting to dwindle too. She resolved to keep herself busy, rolling up her sleeves and kneeling in the dirt to tend to her meagre vegetable patch with shaking hands. The sun beat down swelteringly on her back, and the trees barren of leaves creaked and swayed in the wind that blew over the ocean. The silence was often too much to bare, and so outside on a leaning coffee table her radio feebly crackled out the words from Diamond City radio. Though if she was honest it wasn't just for the sake of her loneliness that she listened. Whenever the news was being announced in between the music, she lifted her head, her ears straining past the static for anything...something that might tell her he was alright. A week or so after she'd landed on the beach she'd heard Travis' voice announce that the mayor of Goodneighbor had returned from travelling. But nothing since. Every so often an anxiety bordering on panic seized her, images of him on his knees looking down the barrel of a raiders gun invading her thoughts. All she had to soothe her was that one broadcast and the 'radio silence' that had followed. She could only assume he was safe. Relatively.

But out here there were only ever menial tasks to do which left her mind free to wander. And so often they wandered to early morning whispers, late night dancing under dim lights, standing back to back fighting for their lives with grins on their faces despite it all. Together they'd defied all the odds, spat in the faces of their naysayers, fought side by side for what was good, for what was _right_...and in the end? Was one last reunion asking too much of this fucked up world? Was it too much to ask that two misfits could find each other again? Two misshapen pieces that somehow just clicked into place. She smiled in defiance of the ache of loss that corroded her from the centre of her chest.  
 _“It's like I found a part of myself I didn't realise was missing...”_  
  
Maybe they'd used up their chances. But maybe, just maybe....'You make your own luck' he'd told her once with that lopsided smile. And he'd never subscribed to karma as a concept either. They'd reunited again more than once in the past after all, and what a reunion that first one was.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  


[Year 2287, Financial District]

Robin had found herself the perfect vantage point, observing the roads stretching out far below her, the wind howling through the holes in the walls of the buildings around her like gigantic windchimes, the sound low and hollow. The air was fresher up here, and though the winds were sometimes strong enough to take her breath away as they barrelled through the dilapidated structures, it was invigorating, her cheeks whenever exposed soon flushing with pink under her freckles. The minuteman general's tricorn sat proudly atop her windswept red hair, contrasting pleasantly with the faded navy of her coat, the tails of which flurried in the wind until she pulled her makeshift hide further over herself. Her hands rested against the trigger of her pride and joy – Jolene. Tinkered with and modified almost beyond recognition but it was hers, suppressed barrel resting, poised and ready. Nothing quite like a .50 cal sniper rifle for a sense of personal safety.  
Robin had always condemned the day in history when man learned to deal death at a distance. But now? There was a thrill in it, a sense of satisfaction that she could strike out unseen, turning herself from the hunted to the hunter. She'd even garnered herself a reputation, recalling the first announcement on the radio that a vigilante was clearing the roads in and out of Goodneighbor, the roads safe thanks to her intervention. 'Penumbra' they called her. Well. If you didn't know what it meant it was tolerable if not contrived.  
She tried not to think too much on the memory of Nate's face on finding out she could already shoot. But she'd led him on that she was ignorant, her hands clasping the weapon clumsily before landing bullets perfectly in each can lined up on the wall. Why wouldn't a girl know how to defend herself when war hovered hesitantly on their doorstep?  
  
She wasn't alone.  
Shifting her weight forwards she looked down through the scope to track movement, the red standing out instantly against the backdrop. Her eyes widened in disbelief.  
“...What the hell are you doing out here?” She muttered to herself in disbelief as she tracked that familiar low hung swagger.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
His feet were itchy and that wasn't because his boots were older than he was. A metaphysical itch, wanderlust starting to grip him every time he had to walk by the gate leading out of town into the financial district, the ruins and the wasteland beyond it.

Earlier that morning, the radio with a casing scattered with empty mentat boxes and cigarette ends started to stutter about 'Penumbra'. Some kind of sniping vigilante taking out raiders, supermutants and gunners alike. They might have a shitty name but damn if they weren't keeping the heat off of Goodneighbor. It was hired pest control he'd never asked for, for _free_.  
  
  
The previous night Whitechapel Charlie had closed the shutters on his optics despairingly, slamming down a glass and muttering.  
“Another bleedin' nutter crawlin' out of the woodwork. As if that Silver Shroud bird wasn't enough. Mad as a box of frogs. Rather you than me Mayor Hancock. Barkin', the lot of em.”

  
And _that_ was exactly what he liked. He couldn't stop his grin stretching broadly as he remembered the silver shroud in his office, in the flesh. The 'much rounder looking in the chest' flesh. Curiosity killed the cat but he'd managed alright so far....right? Alright, aside from his curiosity about the ultimate high turning him into a ghoul. And that experiment trying to snort lines without having any nostrils. But to his credit the presentation had been perfect, who can resist lines off smooth skin?  
He strode openly down the centre of the road following the centre lines, swaying leisurely with his step.  
“Here sniper sniper...” He muttered under his breath, glancing around at the buildings towering on either side of him. Plenty of places for a stealthy type to take refuge around here. He hesitated, his upward gaze meaning a body laid out on the road stopped one of his feet before he saw it. He glanced down, noting straight away he was a raider type...a huge gaping hole right through his neck, the only weak spot in his armor.  
He sucked in a breath sharply. _Nice_. Very. Nice. And just the one body?  
This Penumbra would have to watch his ass and sleep with one eye open. It seemed to the ghoul that this guy had been sent out alone on purpose. They were watching, trying to locate the sniper. This guy was just .50 cal fodder. A few more kills and his time was up once they located him.   
And the body was still un-looted. Word had definitely spread amongst the seedy underbelly of the ruins. They knew they were getting picked off, this guy had been a sacrifice, they weren't about to come out here just to be taken out themselves. Reminded him of the chess analogy Fahrenheit was always growling, and it wouldn't be long before it was checkmate for the pest controller in the shadows.  
  
Straightening up he adjusted the frills of his shirt and continued striding on, his arms open out wide on either side, his short shotgun held loosely as his dark eyes squinted up. Damn. He knew his stuff he'd give him that, this was his reported prime hunting time and the sun was at it's brightest, low enough in the sky to nestle just behind the tallest buildings and making anyone looking their way blind in the piercing beams. His shuffling feet disturbed concrete dust that caught the golden light like smoke around his boots, his dark eyes squinting ahead. He hadn't been shot at, not even a warning shot near his vicinity which to him meant he was both watched and recognised. So it was a face he'd seen around Goodneighbour before? The face of another drifter wandering in from the wasteland, running. Well who had he met who seemed like they might turn masked vigilante? Or even, someone who already had.  
It was still. Quiet. Eerily so, as birds won't sing when a predator lurks around the roots of the trees.  
  
He stiffened and froze as he felt the barrel of a gun shoved sharply into his back enough to straighten him up, barely inclining his head to the side as he glanced beside him to try and see his assailant.  
“Where are your manners? We should shake hands...”  
His fingers flickered to grasp his gun but another cold steel barrel pushed it out of his hands, followed by a gruff masculine voice behind his right shoulder.   
“Don't even think about it.”  
He felt more movement on his left, heard their shuffling boots as they tried to pull him back into the shadows, into more cover. But he resisted, stumbling, playing the high fool and making a nuisance of himself as they grappled with him.  
“Shit no wonder he's wandering out by himself, he's high as a fucking kit-”  
The male raiders voice was cut short and Hancock turned in time to see his eyes roll up into his head, his body collapsing and leaving the grisly gaping wound in his temple glistening unpleasantly in the sunlight as his body dropped out of the shadows.  
“SHIT, it-”  
Another one down, a bullet tearing straight through her neck and she fell forwards into the man beside her, the weight of her heavy metal armor pushing him stumbling back out of his cover, staggering in panic into the sun bleached road.  
He barely had enough time to turn, just enough time for his silent deliverer to reload and fire again, the fire suppressed as he barely heard a whisper of gunfire in spite of the acoustics, the silence eerie and telling as another body fell to the ground, their blood starting to pool around him.  
Three shots was enough for Hancock and he turned sharply, this new angle peering around the corner letting him see past the blinding white of the sun. THERE it was. A whole corner of wall had been taken out on the side of a tall almost cylindrical building, leaving it exposed at floor level. The mottled darkness beyond was too distant and murky to see through. It had to be, that's where he'd go for this kind of work. That is, if he had any subtlety beyond a cinderblock through a greenhouse window.  
It was comforting at least, that someone with such deadly precision apparently didn't want him dead. But taking the direct route seemed like it would be pushing it, so snatching up his shotgun he set to looting the pockets of his fallen assailants before slipping through a broken window of the building beside him.  
  


 

* * *

  
  
Robin frowned, her brow furrowing as she watched through her scope. Really, what the hell was he doing out here by himself? Through her scope she was close enough to even pick up on a semblance of the expressions on his face and he seemed remarkably relaxed for someone wandering out into the ruins alone and into the path of a known sniper.

She observed him fumbling in the pockets of the dead who hadn't even been given chance to cool down before he was rifling through their possessions, pocketing a box of mentats with a look of satisfaction, glancing in her direction. She could have sworn for a moment he looked right down the scope at her before he slipped out of her line of sight. Shit. Her stomach flipped with nerves and uncertainty, twisting under her hide to try and see where he'd gone but there wasn't a trace, just silence and thick artery blood oozing out over the concrete. She felt herself torn with indecision. Should she stay put and wait it out, or was it time to relocate? If he hadn't known she was up here when he set out he certainly did now. Was he after her? Why?  
Too many questions, too many possibilities. And her instincts were torn two ways; to stay camped in the spot that had served her anonymity so well, or to pick up her supplies and get out. She chewed her lip anxiously as she grappled with her indecision before she shuffled back out from her hide and began to pack up her things with practised speed. She didn't want to risk her anonymity, not yet. Notoriety hadn't been something she'd been striving for and she intended to keep it that way. She wasn't for hire, she wasn't doing this for fame, she was doing this because it felt like the right thing to do. Make things just a little bit safer for people like the trembling, anxious wreck she was the first time she traversed the ruins.  
  
She slung her sniper rifle up onto her shoulder, patting the pistol and hunting knife strapped to her thighs before she heard a rattling of cans on the floor below and the shifting of rubble, rocks skittering down over each other as feet pressed on towards her. Turning sharply she froze momentarily, her eyes widening above the bandanna obscuring her face as she saw a familiar tricorn appearing above the sloping building debris. And in a second she turned, tail coat whipping behind her as she tore across towards the fire exit.  
He shouted in protest but she didn't hear what he said, her hands gripping the railing that gave a little under her weight throwing her balance, sending her jump tumbling into something more of an ungainly flail, gripping onto the rail of the next platform and missing it, landing heavily on her back onto a makeshift wooden platform, her weapons digging painfully into her sandwiched between her weight and the wood. She heard it creaking and the telltale snap of a plank cracking, rolling to her feet and racing down the planks that served as a bridge down onto a fallen wall that sloped steeply. She couldn't run down it and fell hard onto one hip, gritting her teeth as she slid down, her torso twisting to streamline her, feeling the burn of friction against her skin and all too aware of him in hot pursuit behind her. Panic caused her heart to thunder, her hair flying behind her as she reached the bottom and stumbled, gathering herself enough to leap down the rest of the way, knees bending as she hit the ground, springing back up to sprint away without direction, hoping to slip away or that he might give up. But he didn't and it wasn't long before she heard feet racing up behind her, stealing a glance over her shoulder to see him closing the distance between them just as her boot landed on a large stone that dug into the arch of her foot painfully, sending her stumbling sideways.  
  
A grip like a vice enclosed her shoulder, pulling her back and then pushing her forcefully onto the wall behind them, her hat lopsided and her chest heaving with her breaths as she was forced round to look at him.  
He was still gripping her shoulder, breathing hard himself and leaning over slightly, his lips forming a growl.  
“Why'd you run? You save my ass and then you run?” He panted, looking at her bewildered and breathless.  
“...I panicked.” Was her lame reply between pants, tilting up her chin underneath her bandanna with defiance in her stormy gaze. “Lotta people out there would happily see me dead.”  
“No shit. There's a price on your head in certain circles.” He eyed her suspiciously, seeing her red hair, her voice sparking recognition.   
“What do you want?” Her shoulders were stiff under his grip, squirming away from his closeness pressing herself back up against the wall.  
“I make a point of getting to know all the freaks around here, and I have one right on my doorstep who hasn't introduced herself. The fuckin' audacity huh, especially as she's stealing my look.” He eyed the tricorn.  
“We're introduced,” She replied smoothly, pointedly pulling her shoulder out from his hand. “Seeing as you tracked me fair and square and you haven't filled my face with lead shot I'll trust you...” Her bruised hands lifted, deftly unfastening the cloth that obscured her face and letting it drop.  
“.... _Robin_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a long one this time round. I've added time stamps to denote the flashing backwards and forwards for some clarity. Starting to get more fun now!  
> I wanted to carry on but i realised the word count was running away with me, so the next chapter won't be long behind this one :)


	5. My Kind of Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Robin steals a hat, lets slip about her ancestral history and gets a hangover. A continuation of the events in chapter 4

[Year 2287, Goodneighbor]  
  
On approaching the gates Robin eyed them warily and reached for her bandanna but Hancock stayed her hand, shaking his head.  
“Folk in Goodneighbor don't ask too many questions, you can breathe easy past that wall.”  
Robin lifted a brow sceptically but she acquiesced, secretly wanting the freedom of not having to shield her identity and relenting to the idea. Besides, from what Hancock had told her the raiders were already onto her and it might be time to retire Penumbra or at least relocate her.  
The two of them walking side by side made quite the striking pair as they strode into the town, tricorns atop their heads and tailcoats drifting in the breeze of their momentum, their booted feet out of sync. Heads turned as they passed, and so did hers to steal a glance at the man beside her, just in time to see him doing the same, the pair of them exchanging sheepish but genuine smiles to be caught in the act.  
“I think one of us might have to go home and change,” She scoffed, “People will start thinking you're starting a cult.”  
Hancock laughed huskily.  
“Well, shit, I can't help my magnetism drawing people in. I'll just tell people about how infatuated you are with me. 'She's just a little obsessed you see fellas...hung around outside for weeks until she caught a glimpse of me...'”  
“News just in on Diamond city radio, Mayor of Goodneighbor suspected victim of Penumbra, found with ruptured testicles.”  
“...me _ow_ .”

 

This time she found herself not in the Third Rail but within the old State House, in what she assumed was Hancocks office. At the top of the spiral stairs Fahrenheit nodded to her in a non committal greeting though eyed her with suspicion, her arms folded ontop of her armor and leaning against the door frame. A casual flick moved her hair out of her eyes and she smirked as she looked Robin up and down.  
“Ohh...the little pawn changed her usual weapon of choice?” She eyed Jolene, Robin's beloved rifle slung on her shoulder. “A full frontal assault isn't for everyone I suppose...” Her reply was sly and derisive, another dig at Robin's capability, but Robin was as sharp as a knife and had heard enough gibes from Fahrenheit to last a lifetime.  
“When was the last time you saw a full frontal other than your own reflection Fahrenheit?” She quipped smartly, her head tilted “I'm beginning to think all this trash talk is flirting.”  
Fahrenheit stared for a second before she laughed in surprise, shaking her head.  
“Jesus Hancock, turns out the kitten has claws after all huh?”  
“Play nice girls,” Hancock chided, his smile twitching as he sat down on a sofa, leisurely stretching out, “...Or don't, just don't make too much of a mess.”  
Robin burned internally at the belittling tone Fahrenheit took on whenever she spoke to her. The woman set her on edge, her gibes before now being met only with stony silence and a curled lip as she turned away. But she wasn't scared anymore. She was angry, long since declaring that this new world could bite her in the ass. Robin Clifton had said her goodbyes a long time ago.  
“I am being nice,” She replied to Hancock as she entered the room, her head turning with mild curiosity, “That's just how Fahrenheit and I communicate – through cheap insults and me masterfully shooting her down.”  
She looked over her shoulder, flashing Fahrenheit a wink who rolled her eyes and turned her shoulder in her direction.  
“Fahrenheit, give us some room will you?” He said pointedly, his gaze piercing directly at her from beneath the brim of his tricorn. His bodyguard looked about to protest, but he pressed on and insisted. “She's had plenty of chance to bump me off before now and she hasn't taken it.”  
Robin smiled brightly at Fahrenheit and was rewarded with a scowl and her retreating back, closing the doors behind her on her way out.  
  
Once she was gone she turned her gaze back to the Mayor who sat back down, indicating the sagging red sofa opposite him which she took, shuffling her hips to get comfortable against the springs and taking in her surroundings. When visiting other people's houses, she'd always made a note of their bookshelves – in her eyes that was the perfect way to get the measure of someone. That wasn't possible 200 years after nuclear annihilation, but thankfully cleanliness wasn't a priority for people in this day and age, so residences were always littered with traces of habit, past and intention.  
The table in front of her was littered with cigarette packets, ashtrays and inhalers of what she now knew to be jet...not something that had been around in her time. Boxes of mentats littered the work surfaces, a precarious pile of cracked dirty bowls stacked by the sink. It was a bachelors house, and oddly she felt strangely at home here. She remembered rooms like this from her teenage years, the rooms so misty with smoke the state of the décor hardly mattered, her recollection as hazy as the air she'd breathed. Despite her best efforts to despise it, this new world was starting to grow on her. And in particular she found herself peculiarly comfortable in the company of the ghoul mayor who leaned across the table obligingly to light her cigarette for her. He reminded her of boys she'd chased and entangled with during her wilder days, boys with rebelliously long hair and obnoxiously fashion defying dress. Well, he had one of those down at least.

“I figured I'd offer you some privacy seeing as you value it so highly.” He leaned back in the sofa, observing her closely and she was suddenly very aware that she wasn't the only one trying to read between the lines. They were circling each other, curious, keeping their distance and trying to get the measure of one another.   
“So err...getting me in a room by myself isn't in an attempt to 'bump me off'?”  
“Hardly. Pretty much the opposite actually. I headed through these gates today to thank Penumbra and now I know who she is it's gotten me thinking...” He took a laborious drag from his cigarette and she regarded him warily. “Twice now people have been reporting to me about some costumed freak operating in and around Goodneighbor, one that aint me...you hear about our Silver Shroud?”  
She could tell from the way he regarded her he had her number and her lips twitched with a subtle smile, her gaze directed away from him with an expression of innocence that was entirely at odds with her.  
“I might have. I heard she did a pretty good clean up job around here.” She examined her nails idly with a glance in his direction, her eyes narrowing mildly.  
“Yeah no kidding.” He was reflecting her smile, words unspoken passing between them. “She was pretty evasive when she was here but I've been thinking if I saw her again, I have a question for her.”  
“Oh yeah?” She kept her cool but her curiosity was piqued and she leaned forwards towards him tellingly.  
“From one freak to another, why the get up?”  
It was a poignant ask. Robin lifted a hand to take her hat from her head as she articulated her thoughts, shaking out her dark red curls and pushing her fingers through her hair, tresses tumbling beneath her ministrations. He was looking at her intensely but she found herself able to meet his interest and scrutiny though her heart fluttered. She leaned forwards, curls of smoke unraveling on either side of her face, her tone coy but her eyebrows at opposing heights.  
“If she were here I think she'd say that you already know the answer to that. But...” She eyed his frock coat with apparent approval. “She might humour you. I think she'd tell you that a unique opportunity afforded by the commonwealth is reinvention. A freedom of expression and self identity the old world just didn't have. There's no papers, no electronic records to list and itemise you. Just you, your actions, and how you choose to define yourself by them. And if you make a mistake, if you put a foot wrong? There's almost infinite scope to try again, to wipe the slate clean.” Her lips pursed around the filter allowing for a pause. “But you'd know all about that, right?” Her storm grey gaze turned on him and he seemed stunned into silence for a moment.  
“Ohhhh....Not just a pretty face are ya? You got my number.” He rubbed his fingers along his jawline, his expression much lighter than it had been when she'd sighted it down her scope. “You're right. I guess me and the shroud are both just two people running from pasts best left behind.” A mentat passed his lips naturally, the movement almost muscle memory to him. “So, Shroud, Penumbra, Robin..what are you running from?”  
She pursed her lips, her expression flickering.  
“I'm not running, not yet. I've...got unfinished business to attend to before I can head for the hills.”  
“Business that keeps bringing you back to my neighborhood?”  
She nodded curtly, her lips pulled inwards and her brow furrowed as she deliberated. She couldn't place why, if asked she wouldn't be able to voice rational justification but for some reason she trusted him. And she got the very distinct thought that the feeling was mutual as she looked up to meet his gaze that was on her steadily, searchingly.  
“You've been straight with me Hancock...so...I'll return the favour.” She blew air out from her cheeks and shook her head. “I don't know what your interest in me is, but...to hell with it.”  
  
She proceeded to tell him her full story, the truth in its entirety. And throughout he listened attentively, his brow furrowing and lifting in all the right places. She told him how she hadn't been alone in that vault, that Nate and Shaun had been with her. And she told him how they were taken from her, her memories unable to pull away from the image of her beating her palms sore against the door of her pod helplessly as she watched Nate's eyes roll back into his head and his body slumping lifelessly, her baby boy taken away in the arms of a masked stranger. Her eyes misted as her heart clenched, but as she began to speak it poured out of her like the walls of a dam that had been threatening to overflow in heavy rain. More-so than when she had explained to Nick, or her brief muttered synopsis to Preston, the cathartic release so much more natural with this man she felt inexplicably drawn to.  
“I have to find Shaun.” She finished with determination on her face, her fortitude written in the set of her jaw, the tilt of her head and the burn in her gaze. “They won't take him from me, and Nate's death...” Her voice faltered but she pressed on, her tone darkening. “They're going to rue the day they left me alive. I will tear them apart piece by piece.” There was a reservoir of will that belied the brief show of vulnerability that made her cheeks flush with embarrassment, her knuckles white as her hands clenched into fists.  
Hancock took a moment before he spoke, pushing back his hat from his face.  
“Well shit...” He breathed out heavily, a light of new respect in his expression as he looked on at her in the aftermath of her confessions. “That's...heavy. I don't envy them I can tell you that much.” He didn't waste platitudes on her, he didn't offer her comfort. She didn't want it and he could tell, and for that she was grateful.  
“If there's anything I can do to help, you know where I am.”  
Robin nodded just once, her hands twisting in her lap in her brief silence.  
“What I need right now is a break. I need to get out of my head even just for a night.”  
“You know what this calls for doll face?”  
She looked across at him questioningly as he lifted up an inhaler of jet between two gnarled fingers and span it deftly.  
“You need to relax....aint partial to chem breaks by any chance?”  


  
The following evening was JUST what the doctor ordered. She was drinking to forget, but she was in good company and feeling just caged enough by her weeks of camping out with her rifle to let loose. Blissfully unhinged and wild, she threw herself into it with an abandon she hadn't allowed herself before then and Hancock enabled and ran along with her. They shared full bottles of whiskey, he grappled with her and reasoned with the irate barman as she stole his bowler hat and paraded around in it, swaggering and swaying enough to make her easily apprehended. But she was with Hancock, whilst he was vouching that she was harmless Ham the bouncer wouldn't touch her.  
He snatched the bowler from her head and tossed it like a frisbee to send it sailing over the bar towards Charlie, his hands grasping her arms and holding them down as she waddled restrictedly towards the sofa he directed her towards whilst she muttered in a cockney accent.  
“Get your filthy bleedin' 'ands off o me, I aint done nuffin!”  
She collapsed onto a couch with him breathless with laughter as he promptly shoved her own hat back onto her head, her hands clumsily correcting it to a jaunty angle with a small smug smile on her face.  
“That accent is uncanny, something else you want to tell me?”  
“Ohhh that's it, my covers blown. Another secret identity of mine don't you know. My blood runs red white and blue but it's a union jack. I'm a filthy British spy descended from imperialists. I do shots of earl grey and can't say anything without sarcastic inflection.”  
“This is not that vault suited mouse that scurried in through the gates a few months ago but I _like_ this girl.” He grinned as she almost collapsed against his side but righted herself with her chin tucked in with dignified confusion as she sought her balance. He called her a girl. She was... _had_ been, a married woman with a child. But hearing that right now, it felt good, filling her with a giddy thrill.  
“You're a fucking bad influence,” She scoffed, nearly setting fire to her hair with a lighter he kindly re-positioned with a hand cupped over hers. “What kind of a Mayor gets grieving widows so drunk they can't walk?” She teased.  
“The kind of Mayor that shares his wealth around,” He replied with a wink as he held out an inhaler of jet, offering it to her freely.  
“You know how they make this...uh... _shit,_ right?” She questioned as she took it out of his hand regardless.  
“It's about the _results_ , doll face.”  
“You'd inhale it straight out of the brahmin's ass if the high was better.”  
“You think so little of me! I'm appalled and utterly unsurprised. Take your hit and shut up.”

  
She grinned up at him her eyes sparkling with mirth, her freckled cheeks dimpling slightly as her lips pursed over the inhaler and she sucked it in steady and experienced, her stomach churning unpleasantly at the bitter trickle down the back of her throat. She fought past the nausea as her head span at the initial hit, closing her eyes as it disorientated her, the world around her slowing and warping like she was being pulled down a tunnel by a hook in her navel. Hancock's laughter dropped several pitches and his words were unintelligible as she fell forwards slowly, her arms clutched around her midriff. But eventually the waves of nausea subsided and she lifted her head from near her knees, her eyes opening to unveil the wealth of colour that had suddenly exploded in the dingy underground bar, the vibrancy of her senses almost overwhelming, her pupils dilated making her eyes look even larger as she looked around wide eyed, smiling vacantly. She swayed slightly as the room span and swayed like a rocking boat, her eyes half closing with a pleasant smile as her fingers flexed, her shoulders rolling before she fell back with a sigh that seemed to exhale her worries out of her, the proximity to Hancock not a bother to her as she turned to look at him, sinking down against the red upholstery and seeing him grinning like a cheshire cat at her.  
“You take your stimulants like a champ, red. I think you might just be my kind of trouble.”  
  


  
The next morning she awoke face down on a bed without sheets still fully dressed, her hair a tangled mess and her head pounding, her stomach growling and aching....and she smiled. A blissful smile that reveled in the aches and pains that told her that was alive, that last night she had lived instead of existed and survived. But she knew she still had a long road ahead of her and very few caps to see her through it. 50 caliber bullets weren't cheap either. She had to nurse her hangover and then it was back to work, someone in Goodneighbor must need some sort of service she could provide...Hadn't someone mentioned a ghoul called Bobbi was 'hiring'...?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was alot of fun to write, happy to get the ice broken between these two and have Robin coming out of her shell. Not quite the scared, confused mouse she was when she exited the vault anymore.
> 
> If you'd like to see some chapter previews, artwork of hancock and robin and other ramblings, musings and reblogs, feel free to follow me on tumblr and/or send me a message on there! I'm a friendly goofball and would happily fangirl with you guys  
> http://apocalyptic-comedown.tumblr.com/


	6. The Devil is Alive in Salem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Who trusted God was love indeed  
> And love Creation's final law  
> Tho' Nature, red in tooth and claw  
> With ravine, shriek'd against his creed"  
> -In Memoriam, Alfred Tennyson

[Year 2289, Spectacle Island]  
  
Some time in the evening as the sun hung low against the horizon, its dying beams catching the crests of the waves with a golden kiss, Robin stood with her arms folded looking out across the ocean. The beach was unoccupied by any beast other than Dogmeat, and a smile crossed her face as she saw a dorsal fin break the surface of the water before it dipped back down into the murky depths. She sighed with satisfaction despite the tremble and ache in her arms from the effort it had taken to drag the creature back into the water after finding it beached. She probably should have killed it and stripped its carcass of everything useful. But she'd always been an animal lover, and whatever animal life was left in this wasteland she felt compelled to err away from destroying it without need. As sick as she was of mirelurk meat she had enough to keep her going for a good while yet. And that feeling of satisfaction, that little swell of happiness to see the creature return to the ocean had been worth it.

John had found out about her love of the natural world the hard way as she recalled.

 

* * *

 

[Year 2287, Salem]

The moon hung like a pale disc of ice against an inky backdrop speckled with distant starlight, the usually benevolent gaze of moonlight turning on anyone in its bleached path with an unnerving hostility. She couldn't say why she felt that, but as she looked up at the full moon she felt in her bones that it brought with it a night of menace and malignity, its grin maniacal.  
“You're putting me on edge” Hancock hissed lowly through his teeth, the pair of them crouched behind a low wall as Robin switched rifles. She shot a glance at him sideways with a scowl that couldn't quite hold back the smirk after a few moments.  
“On edge doesn't cover it buddy. You tell me how an old woman charging towards you wearing half a brahmin skull on her head looks after a hit of jet.”  
“Probably about half as scary as you when you look at me like that.”  
“Just keeping you on your toes.” She twisted and lifted herself up, peering over the top of the wall whilst he covered her back. Everything was thrown into sharp contrast, the light pale and the shadows black as pitch, her blue eyes straining to see past the gloom so she lifted her rifle to look through the night vision scope.  
“Don't leave that red head up there too long,” She heard a mutter from beside her, “They'll think it's a campfire.”  
He was rewarded with a knee in his side forcefully but she grinned despite herself. His voice wise cracking and insulting her was more calming than any hit from the chems and they both knew that. His gravelly tones cut through her tension like a knife, making her smile just a little more confidently in the face of danger. This job was turning out to be more trouble than it was worth, Salem true to it's dark history now host to a group of people the likes of which neither her or Hancock had ever seen before. But scanning the darkness as best she could, she didn't see any sign of black feathered headdress or any movement at all so she signalled to him and they each hopped easily over the wall and headed towards their target which loomed up ahead of them, the Museum of Witchcraft.  
It was difficult to move through such long dry grass without a sound and yet Robin almost drifted beside Hancock, light on her feet, her armoured vault-suit not creaking as she moved. To their right a copse of trees climbed up a slope, their branches silhouetted against the night sky like gnarled skeletal hands stretching up towards the heavens. As they moved forwards they both saw a shape ahead of them on the ground, dark and indistinct. His night eyes were better than hers and he spoke first as she squinted ahead into the gloom.  
“Something aint right here doll,” He spoke lowly, barely above a whisper, “Ready up.”  
Robin gripped her rifle tightly as they moved towards the shape on the ground, a small bulky mass dark in the shadows. Something squelched underfoot and she hesitated, looking down to see fingers poking out from underneath her boot, a severed hand several feet away from the body it was previously attached to.  
Hancock sucked in a breath, his rifle held low in front of him as he leaned over the body to examine it, and Robin saw him wince and shake his head.  
“Damn. Poor fucker. That's a gunners uniform, but still....yeesh.” He twisted his face. “She didn't die quick and peaceful that's for sure.”  
Robin wasn't too keen on contemplating how far away from her body this woman's head was now, considering she couldn't see it. But one arm was still attached, the term used loosely quite literally, and Robin covered the darkness around them as Hancock stooped, unable to see what he was doing until he shoved a slightly bloodied holotape against her arm.  
“Pip girl's services are required sister.”  
Wiping the blood off carelessly she shoved it into the holotape player on her arm and turned the volume down low. Hancock was standing watch but she could tell he was listening, his shotgun held aloft defensively as the tale was woven from the conversation crackling out from her pipboy speakers. Her eyes widened as her blood chilled, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end as a snarl so deep and full of bass made the speakers bottom out distorting the sound further, the disturbing thought hitting her that this tape contained this woman's final moments alive.  
“Whatever that was didn't sound like the type to be accommodating to visitors,” Hancock remarked, his scarred face regarding the building that imposingly loomed over them warily. “You sure you wanna do this?”  
“What's that Hancock? Are you scared?”  
“There you go misjudging my keen sense of self preservation again.” He walked over to a set of heavy metal doors set into the ground, the lock and chain broken and discarded uselessly on the dirt allowing him to pull them open, the hinges groaning in protest. “Ladies first.”  
“And they say chivalry is dead.” She cast him a look as she scanned the darkness below through her scope before descending the ladder, her breaths catching as she tried to steady them.  
  
The basement below was stuffy, the air full of decay and dust. And it was silent.  
“Too quiet...”  
“Silent as the grave.” Robin agreed grimly under her breath, about to take a step forward before she froze stiff. The whole room seemed to quake and shiver, the air pressing on denser around them as wooden beams cracked and creaked, and a bestial, malevolent growl rumbled ominously from above, dust shaken loose from the ceiling with a hiss as it fell down over them.  
“Did you fucking hear that?”  
Robin nodded but didn't answer, her mouth dry as she gathered her wits and continued on through the doorway ahead, her eyes aching as they strained through the gloom that was pierced around the next corner by a shaft of light coming through a hole in the ceiling, the silence broken by the steady sound of water dripping. Only it wasn't water. Robin halted again as she came across a steadily pooling puddle of blood...looking up slowly as she heard the growl again, louder this time, and came face to face with the slack jawed corpse of a gunner hanging through the gap, his eyes frozen in place, wide with the fear he felt in his last moments. Robin took a step back and ended up stepping into Hancock who lifted a hand, gripping her arm as they heard the weight of something heavy putting pressure on the floor above, a large shape obscuring the light as the body was dragged back. She could hear the rending and tearing of skin and innards, the squelching of bodily tissues and sinew being mauled as lumps of unidentifiable flesh dropped through the ceiling and landed heavily with an unpleasant splash onto the blood stained floor.

“Least we know whatever's up there aint hungry.” He was wise cracking again, but he squeezed her arm tightly as they moved on into the next room through a hole in the wall. There was little to see in these basement rooms that were long since looted of valuables, but there could have been a crate of unopened, preserved mentats and neither of them would have noticed in the face of the unknown danger that prowled ominously on the floor above. They wound through the rooms with their hearts in their throats, the tension almost at the point of snapping, both jumping at the slightest sound, every sense honed and on high alert.  
  
The corridor opened out onto a much larger room, and Robin felt like she may be in danger of staining her vaultsuit as she looked to the end of it through her scope only to see a figure lurking in the shadows that made her itchy trigger finger twitch pre-emptively. It was a mannequin. Those fucking mannequins would be the end of her.  
The false alarm was followed by a real one. Another body, its whole torso torn open with entrails hanging like glistening streamers tumbled from another hole in the ceiling almost landing on her, causing her to leap to the side and Hancock swung his rifle around automatically. Robin could scarcely take in breath as her heart pounded with tension and fear. But fear was familiar. Fear kept her alive, fear affirmed her bravery as she continued on in the face of it, fear was something she never let show. But there was boundless gratitude in her for Hancock's presence by her side as they crept up the stairs keeping low to the ground, each step light and careful.  
Through another door they found themselves in a room filled with eerily posed and dressed mannequins on display, their lifeless faces painted with contorted expressions of fury as they condemned the female figure lashed to the stake. Burned alive for her allegiance with the devil. But there was little time to wonder on the history as they crept on, keeping low and against the crumbling walls full of holes avoiding the flickering spotlights that illuminated stoic wooden faces and peeling wallpaper.  
There it was again. A rumbling growl that sent them scurrying, into a restroom occupied by yet another corpse and...egg shells? She narrowly avoided standing on one, her gaze casting over to where one pristine speckled egg sat amongst the remains of its brothers and sisters, its surface slightly smeared with blood. Her fingers reached out to trace over the surface of it but Hancock came in behind her ready to grab her shoulder and haul her out. Snap. The sound of the thick eggshell cracking almost echoed and they froze in the aftermath of the sound that was followed by a sharp snarl and heavy intake of breath from amongst the shadows they had already traversed. And now heavy footsteps started to lumber, closer and closer in their direction. Robin hastily stuffed the egg into her pack, feeling the curve of it against her back as Hancock huddled into the restroom with her. He'd be swearing if he wasn't loathe to make a sound she knew. They couldn't stay here, if whatever this creature was found them in a restroom, they were cornered, done for.  
She gave him the signal and they edged out incrementally, peering around the edge of the doorway. She could just see the recess in the wall that lead to another set of double doors...but it was a risk. They could break for it and get to them only to find them locked or barred from the other side. Whatever this was, it was much bigger than a mole rat or a dog, and likely to tear through them as easily as it tore through an entire team of gunners. They edged along the corridor towards the door.

  
She saw its shadow before she laid eyes on the beast itself. In a circle of light cast on the wall she saw the curvature of huge thick horns astride a heavy set skull that was lifted attentively as it scented the air, hands as big as dustbin lids set with claws akin to kitchen knives in size, deadly talons designed to pierce and tear, to hook on flesh and rip it from the bone. Its breaths were heavy and laboured as it pulled in air to try and scent them out and they both dropped again, pressing up against the wall behind them in the shadows. She could feel her pulse in her throat as the sounds grew louder, drawing nearer, the shadow becoming indistinct until the hulking creature blocked out the light entirely. They were trapped.  
She turned in the gloom to look at Hancock beside her, her pale eyes meeting with his dark gaze that was already turned to her, the depths of them lost in the dark but she could see the intensity of his expression as they waited, loitering in the shadows. Impulsively, she took a hand from her rifle and reached out in the dark for his, her fingers sliding over his weathered skin and interlinking with his. She squeezed hard, her eyes desperately communicating to him. If we don't make it out of here...  
And as they crouched there, their grips competing with one another like locked vices, by some miracle the sounds began to move away, growing more distant. It was patrolling. Or maybe it just wasn't looking for food. She became very aware of the new weight in her pack and let go of Hancock's hand hastily in favour of grabbing her weapon and mouthing. 'Go.'  
She scurried out towards the double doors with Hancock right behind her, the hinges screeching as she pulled it open which was met by a deafening howl from the other end of the room that made her ears ring and her blood curdle. She turned to see it perched on bipedal legs, wreathed in dim flickering lights as its jaws stretched wide exposing fangs dripping with blood and saliva, it's eyes burning with malevolence like the devil himself pursued them in all his infernal majesty.  
“GO!” Hancock shouted and shoved her through the doors, slamming them closed and turning wildly, grabbing a nearby desk and pulling it down to rest in front of the doors in an attempt to slow the beast down before they both raced out outside, boots pounding the concrete. She heard wood splinter but they didn't stop, running blindly and aware of Hancock's heavy footsteps not far behind her, the wind howling over her ears as they raced off up into the trees. Climbing the slope at speed she stumbled but he picked her up whenever she faltered, running for what seemed like an age, and they didn't stop until her lungs burned as her cheeks were flushed with the cold wind, staggering as they reached a small abandoned hut out in the wilderness. She fell forwards, dropping her rifle to put her hands on her knees as her torso heaved with her laboured breaths.  
  
“Holy SHIT!” She looked up, her expression beaming as she looked towards her companion, her eyes shining as her body flooded with adrenaline. “We outran a _Deathclaw_.”  
“...You have some SERIOUS thrill issues.” But he was grinning right back at her, his chest heaving and his hat sitting lopsided on his head. “I'll never understand how you move so quiet. Death comes on silent wings huh?”  
“And when death meets a deathclaw she turns and runs with her tail between her legs.” She laughed all the same, her arms trembling. This was a rush unlike anything else, narrowly escaping with death snapping at their heels. And she knew this was exactly why Hancock was with her, for that same thrill, that feeling of overwhelming gratitude to be alive, the adrenaline in their veins. She wouldn't have it any other way.  
“I'm gonna need some jet after that.”  
  
After they were certain the deathclaw was no longer following them, they chose to camp out there that night having found some slightly fusty smelling sleeping bags rolled up in a corner inside. Hunched up sat on a log by a small fire in the night air they wound themselves down, sharing inhalers of jet to instil calm, the high washing over her in blissful waves that made her head throb but not unpleasantly.  
She held the egg in her lap, admiring the way the fire hit its surface and even cleaning away the blood from it with a rag. Hancock raised a brow.  
“So...what are we going to do with that thing?”  
The voices from the holotapes haunted her. They were all killed because they stole the clutch, stalked down and torn asunder by a mothers wrath. She knew that feeling all too well. Her head lifted to look at the moon peering down through the branches at them, its lunatic smile leering down on them. She suppressed a shiver, but couldn't swallow her unease. This was wrong, all of it. It made her skin crawl.  
“You've got that look.”  
“What look?”  
“That look you get when you're about to say something batshit insane.” Hancock's assumption was proven right with her next words.  
“We're taking the egg back to momma.”  
“....You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up being very long so I've had to split it into two (as well as cut out a few paragraphs), the second of which I should get back to finishing right now...I think I may have betrayed my love of gore, gothic horror and deathclaws here! In the next chapter we'll find out the feelings this encounter inspired in our protagonists.


	7. A Line in the Sand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following on directly from the events in chapter 6, Robin and Hancock realize just how close they're starting to drift towards one another.

A few days later in the north of the commonwealth, they were picking their way down a steep slope cut through a rock face. It had just turned dark, the heat of the day barely faded as it gave way to the sweeping cold of night. In the basin below them mist hung in wreathes low over the ground, the lunacy of the gibbous moon wrapped in cloud cover that made the night dim and murky.  
Hancock watched as Robin moved on ahead fearlessly, her rifle held in front of her without a quake in her hands, not a jitter in her. This was one hell of a woman who'd dragged him out into the commonwealth. And yet no matter how crazy the mission, no matter how many times her whims dragged him out into the firing line he was always right here, right behind that blue ass. That very distracting blue ass that sort of.... swayed with her hips and...  
Now probably wasn't the time for that. Focus.  
  
Robin halted as she stood in the centre of the clearing, turning in a circle. There was a pile of debris bunched up and hollowed out in the centre, the inside lined with tattered bloodstained clothes, claw marks digging a moat around the edge of it. That had to be a nest, but she didn't have time to regard it for long as a shape caught her eye at the top of the cliff face ahead of her.  
A proud head crowned with curling horns appeared above them as Hancock moved to stand beside her, a face obscured by shadow looking down on them, its arms hanging loosely in front of its powerful torso, its hands coiled. A growl throbbed in its throat as it turned to descend down the rocks in a shower of pebbles and dust, huge hind legs bunched up and tense with pure solid muscle as it landed heavily and then slowly turned towards them with a thrash of its thick tail.  
Hancock started to back away, lifting his shotgun, aiming.  
“If you've been saving up explosives now is the time to use em doll.” The inflection in his voice was familiar, he was ready for a fight, hearing a click in his gun but she threw out her hand to grab his arm, trying to force it down.  
“Are you crazy? Who am I kidding, course you-”  
“Shh!” She hushed him, still gripping his arm and not taking her eyes off the creature that regarded them steadily. It made no move to attack, but it watched Robin intensely, its shoulders lowering. Removing her hand from Hancock she unwrapped the bundle in front of her to reveal the egg, pristine and cared for through her travels through the commonwealth, shielding it as its own mother would. The deathclaw started but could see the barrel of Hancock’s gun aimed in her direction and hesitated, but Robin almost imagined she saw something in its face...yearning, hope. She wasn't going to attack; she was sure of it...almost sure of it. Making her way towards the nest, taking the egg in her hands she placed it amongst the carefully assembled insulation.

  
“Easy there girl.... good deathclaw.” She muttered as she released her hold on it and backed away hurriedly, never turning her back on it.  
The deathclaw hurried forwards, its great hands scooping up handfuls of earth to fussily obscure her last remaining egg from sight. Robin stared to see such a powerful creature behaving so tenderly, one who's relatives had nearly torn her to shreds on many occasions. A crooning growl throbbed in its throat as she nudged the top of the egg before she buried it entirely, the dim light of the moon illuminating the shifting scales along her back.  
“Let’s get out of here before this thing decides to feed us to its young.” Hancock hissed insistently out of the side of his mouth as he backed away further, but Robin found herself caught in the creatures gaze as she looked back at her steadily. This moment weighed heavily on her and she wanted to remember it. Stood face to face with arguably the most feared creature in the commonwealth, so close she could almost reach and touch it and with what Robin fancied was gratitude in its fierce gaze. They were beautiful monsters.  
“ _Red_. Did your chems just kick in or something? Let’s _go_.”  
She smiled faintly, nodding to the creature. “You look after that...” She cast a lingering glance over the mother defending her nest as she started to back away before turning her back to follow Hancock down the sloping hill towards the road.

 

 

They were camped up again, and Robin was roasting a meat the source of which was probably better not to think about.  
She leaned forwards and squinted at the meat on the spit, rotating it at an uneven pace and trying to see if it was cooking properly. She was a shit cook, but she tried and she was probably slightly better than he was. He found himself watching her, the wrinkle in her nose as she observed their food suspiciously, the way the firelight caught the colours of her hair making them larger than life, each strand burning. Some nights she drove him to distraction but, shit...She wouldn't want to be with a ghoul, he wouldn't wish his mug on anyone he cared about. The thoughts were shoved to the back of his mind, but he caught himself feeling more pleased than he should if she fell asleep against him in chem induced stupor, the times when she held his hand and when she ran ahead of him in that tight vault suit. He _did_ care.  
When he first met her she was a quivering fearful thing, he'd figured she'd be picking her teeth out of the gutters by sundown. But damn, she held her own, went on to take out Sinjin and became a notorious sniper. And then she just decided to walk for 2 days to take a deathclaw egg back to its nest, to help the things _breed more.  
  
_ “So first it's the Ghoul Groupies Syndicate, now it’s the Deathclaw Preservation Society?”  
She risked letting their meal burn to drop her hand from the spit, turning to him with an eyebrow raised and a derisive laugh.  
“Who the hell are you calling your groupie? As I remember it, you were the one begging me to take _you_ out of Goodneighbor.”  
He grinned, very much enjoying his favourite game of bait the red head.  
“If I'm _your_ groupie the result is the same either way doll face...” His voice dropped almost growling, his dark gaze sweeping over the curve of her thigh up to her hips. She rolled her eyes in response and sniggered, turning away from him to start dishing out suspicious looking meat but she cast a glance over her shoulder at him. Her eyes were shining as she looked at him.

But why did she look at him like that? This time of night, the heat of the day done and under cover of darkness she came into her own, some defence seemed to drop away from her. Behind the flirting a rapport was starting to build between them, or was he imagining it? Her willingness to be _physically_ close to him was at odds with the guarded gaze. Maybe it was time to have a talk with her again. Her shoulders would stiffen and she struggled to look him in the eye, but she always listened. Sometimes she needed time to think, but she always had an answer for him.  
  
His quiet as they ate made her suspicious, and her expression reflected this as she glanced over at him with her eyes narrowed, her cheeks full as she wolfed down her food hungrily. 'I aint the ponderous type' he'd told her, recalling this as she watched him looking ponderous.   
It was rare to see him like this. In these moments where they had chance to breathe, to take things in and rest, their guards somewhat lowered and they each betrayed something beyond bravado. He looked deeply thoughtful, his brow line furrowed and his expression denoted his quiet contemplation despite not having eyebrows. She found the texture of his face fascinating and caught herself admiring the lines and furrows, the way some of them fanned out on his neck and how they clung to his cheekbones. To her there had never been any question about ghouls. He was the person she'd place at her side above anyone else, and that was it.

Gulping down water she cleared her throat.  
“What's eating you?”  
“Thankfully, not a deathclaw.” He puffed air out of his cheeks and lifted his hat to brush his hand over his scalp. It always threw her to see him without his hat on, it was just intrinsically part of how she pictured him.

“It's nothing bad,” He started after a moments silence, “This is just. It aint easy.”  
He looked up at her to see her attention fixed on him expectantly, her shoulders drawn up in her tension. A lot of humans struggled to look a ghoul in the eye and normally, she didn’t. But as soon as a heart to heart was initiated she retreated and it seemed so at odds with her.   
“You're crazy Robin. 'I'm going into the glowing sea naked' kinda crazy. These past few days have gotten me thinking.” He pulled a cigarette from the packet in his breast pocket and lit it, smoking helped him think. “But seeing you trekking across the wastes with that egg in your arms? Alot is starting to make sense.” He paused, but she didn't interrupt. “You did it because it was the right thing to do, and nothing was gonna stop you, least of all me complaining. Most folks don't live in the commonwealth too long before their moral compass gets bent outta shape. But you, you're just the same as before you came outta that vault, aren't ya? You've toughened up, you aint too shabby in a scrap these days. But you're still righteous.”  
He watched as her brow furrowed slightly, but not in disapproval, thoughtful.  
“I don't know about that Hancock, this place is changing me. But it’s not a bad thing. I needed to change, the rules are different now.” She looked up to meet his eyes again and he felt his heart jump as she gave him the smallest but warmest of smiles. “I've got you to help keep me on track, even if your moral compass is just, uhh, a little bit crumpled.”  
That dimpled, freckled smile was infectious and he found himself returning it, almost with relief to not have a blank face staring back at him.  
“Yeah...you got that right. You got me. It's so damn rare to find someone out here who'll stick their neck out to do the right thing, not take shit laying down you know? Too many people taking advantage of complacency, too many poor bastards getting the shitty end of the stick. Your hearts in the right place, even if it is a little soft...” He saw her open her mouth to protest but he continued, “Don't even try and tell me I'm wrong. You could have been torn apart by that deathclaw but you still dragged our asses all the way up here because you're the type who wouldn't have slept at night if you hadn't.”  
Her expression was hard to read but he wasn't going to let it stop him, he was on a roll and didn't want to lose his momentum or his nerve.  
“Coming out here with you, I figured I'd just sharpen up the old killer instinct...I just wanted out of Goodneighbor. Standing still in one place for too long, it drives me crazy. And I didn't wanna let power get to my head til I ended up being what I set out to destroy in the first place. What I'm trying to say is I'm glad I'm here, and I'll be here no matter what crazy tangents you wanna pull me away on. Setting out from Goodneighbor with you might just be the best decision I've ever made. You...” He hesitated, his words faltering, finding himself caught by her face as she watched him, the trunk of her body leaning towards him.  
“You mean a hell of a lot to me dollface. I'm proud to be your friend.”

 

Robin felt a flutter of heat in her chest she hadn't experienced for a long time. It warmed her against the cool night, the wind teasing strands of her hair over her face as she looked at him in the aftermath of his confession, watching her hopefully with his breath baited. There was ice in her expression in contrast to the embers kindled in her chest, fear flurrying around her mind as it reeled. She didn’t intend to get close to anyone out here. The idea of losing someone else she cared about paralysed her to the point of her walls thickening and strengthening.  
“Look who's the psychoanalyst now huh?” Her teasing was a mask to her emotions, a quip designed to hide and defend but as soon as it left her lips her gut twisted with guilt. He’d been the friend she needed out here, and by this point it was probably delusional to think that she could lose him now with no emotional repercussion. He lifted her spirits with captivating charisma, he’d likely saved her life more than once. Mayor Hancock as she’d come to know him was much more than recreational drug use and swagger. He’d managed to read her despite her emotional distance. And there was a wealth of experience and thought beneath the surface, but she couldn’t touch it without first sharing hers, could she? She didn't owe it, but she felt he deserved it and she wanted him to hear it.   
“John...” She ventured hesitantly as she shifted closer to him, her hand resting between them on the log that they were sat on, her palm almost aching to be held against his, a memory of his skin against hers burned into her like an etching. There was a compulsion in her to be closer to him whatever the capacity, but she daren't move her hand and the feeling brought confusion with it. She didn't want to be distracted from her mission but, well. He was distracting wasn't he? His lopsided smile and his swaggering charisma, his black and white morality so easy to understand. They didn't agree on everything, but in some ways they were so in sync they naturally drifted towards compromise, they learned from one another.

“There's no one else I'd rather be out here with.” She spoke with absolute conviction. “Feels like my lucky stars were out the night before we set out.” She suppressed a laugh. “I'd never have guessed that my oasis of sanity in this fucked up world would be a ghoul in 17th century dress enabling my penchant for chems. But hey. You play the cards you're dealt. You....you mean a lot to me too.” The silence that followed wasn't unpleasant but there was a tension born from realization, an acceptance in both of them that something had been breached. They’d crossed over a nameless line in the sand.

  
Wait. What?  
She'd called him John. In future times Robin would struggle to recall when she first started calling him that, but Hancock never forgot. That night sat by the fire, chems shared freely between them, the memory as clear as day to him years later. He remembered her taking off her hat and laying her head against his shoulder, looking across at the fire, and he recalled how easy and natural it felt to lift his arm and place it over her shoulders, his fingers ghosting down her arm. There wasn't any room for self-doubt or second guessing, the space reserved just for the two of them.  
  
She remembered the scent of him, cigarettes and gunpowder. Not the most pleasant of bouquets but the combination of them came to mean heaven to her, it was _his_ smell, the thing she craved on long nights to help her sleep. She remembered her eyes growing heavy as her head threatened to roll with her blissful high but she didn't want to move in case their moment shattered, the weight of his arm around her a welcome and exciting pressure against her, the feel of his chest rising and falling with his breaths soothing.  
In the wake of their deep disclosure they basked. Untold dangers lay out in the darkness beyond the little circle of light they rested in, but together they felt invincible.  
  


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was exhausting! I had a bit of self doubt plaguing me during the editing process but I think its finally how I want it. I guess its starting to heat up now ;)


End file.
